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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034977">Paved in Yellow Stones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outlander &amp; Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, F/M, Pi, Private Investigator, Private Investigators, Prostitution, Tortured Souls, private detective, treasure, yellow diamonds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:35:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>James Fraser is a private detective.  One day at his office, he receives a mysterious envelope.  It contains a sheet of pictures of a beautiful woman and the words "Find her" written on the back.  Knowing exactly who the envelope came from, he makes it his mission to do just that.</p><p>Follow Jamie’s investigation notes on twitter. @JamesFraserPI</p><p>Prompt credit:  https://twitter.com/yogini_koo/status/1339933484715044866?s=20</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Photograph</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I came across this prompt by Nikoo on twitter.  I didn't see that anyone swiped it up already, so I thought I'd give it a go.   It's a fucking badass idea, and the picture inspiration is everything.</p><p>This story needs all kinds of trigger/content warnings.  Drinking, smoking, violence, and all manner of messy ass shit.  I don't want to ruin the story, but if you're sensitive to any kind of criminal behavior, skip this one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Fuck!”   </em>
</p><p>He threw the empty flask in the back seat, chiding himself for not bringing the whole damn bottle.</p><p>The car idled quietly on the curb as he finished his last cigarette.  He thought about buying another pack (and another bottle of whisky) before heading inside, but the shop down the street wouldn’t open for another hour.</p><p>He didn’t want to be here.  It was Jenny’s fucking nagging that forced him to drive into town.  She’d been on his case for the last week, griping about his drinking...accusing him of moping.  <em> For fuck’s sake!  It’s only been a month! </em></p><p>A month.</p><p>Fucking hell.  Had it really been that long?  Sometimes it felt like yesterday...sometimes like forever.</p><p>His eyes burned as memories surfaced of Willie’s casket being lowered into the ground.</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck.” </em>
</p><p>A sob tried to escape his throat, but he held his breath and rubbed the damn tears from his eyes.</p><p><em> There’s a bottle in my desk! </em> he recalled, suddenly eager to walk through the doors.  He stumbled out of the car and up the stone steps.  </p><p>A sign creaked above him as it swung back and forth in the cool, morning breeze: <em> Fraser &amp; Sons, Private Investigators. </em>It took him a few tries to find the right key.</p><p>It was meant to be a family business.  Da, Willie, and Jamie.  </p><p>But he was the only one left.</p><p>He threw the door open and went straight for his desk in the back room...his father’s old office.</p><p>It should’ve been Willie’s, but the bloody bastard couldn’t hold it together.  <em> Fucking cunt! </em></p><p>Well, it was Jamie's office now, and it had been for the last five years.  And it was his desk.  And his whisky.</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck!” </em>
</p><p>The bottle was almost empty...almost.  He unscrewed the lid and tipped it back into his mouth, draining the last few gulps in a single breath.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>He collapsed in his chair and tossed the bottle in the metal bin under his desk.  The loud clatter told him Jenny had been by the office in his absence to empty the rubbish.  </p><p>He looked around to find she did more than just that.  The files and papers he’d left on his desk when he got the call about Willie were either organized into tidy piles or returned to their cabinets.  He noticed the floors were sparkling clean and the air smelled unnaturally of citrus.  </p><p>He didn’t like her barging in the office and rifling through his things...but he supposed he had his ways of coping, and she had hers.  </p><p><em> Meddlesome wee besom</em>.</p><p>He saw his in-basket had a stack of post piled up for him to sort through.  Knowing Jenny, she probably already fished out all the bills to keep the shop in working order.</p><p>He thumbed through the stack, just to be sure, and found his sister to be as thorough as expected.</p><p>There was one envelope that caught his eye amidst the pile of nonsense left behind.  It stood out because it was yellow and addressed to him in sloppy handwriting rather than professionally printed.  And it wasn’t addressed to “James Fraser” as he would’ve expected at work.  It was simply addressed to “Jamie.”</p><p>The address was nearly indecipherable, but somehow, it had made it to its destination.</p><p>He knew that handwriting.  He’d seen it a million times.</p><p>Wishing he had more whisky, he grabbed his letter opener and sliced it opened.  He reached in and found only one thing inside: a picture.</p><p>Three pictures, actually...all on one page.  They were of a woman.  </p><p>Her hair was short and straight, intentionally messy, and near black in the monochromatic ink in which it was printed.  Her skin was as pale as a fresh layer of snow.  </p><p>She wore a dress...no, not a dress...lingerie?  Her tits were spilling out of the sides, and her thighs looked soft and fleshy.  </p><p>
  <em> “Fuck.” </em>
</p><p>She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  </p><p>
  <em> Who the hell is she? </em>
</p><p>He turned the picture over to find a bloodstain in the bottom corner and two words written in the same handwriting scribbled on the envelope.</p><p><br/>

</p><p>
  <em> "Find her." </em>
</p><p>He dropped the picture on his desk and closed his eyes with a painful exhale.</p><p>"What the <em> fuck </em> did'ye get yerself into, Willie?  And why the hell are ye asking the same of me?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Behind Closed Doors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jamie parked on the curb in front of Jenny’s house and ran up the front walk. Pain throbbed in his head with every step, letting him know he was sobering up.  </p><p>Knowing Jenny was at work, he bypassed the doorbell and used the spare key she kept hidden in a false rock in the garden.  He went inside and headed straight for the kitchen, needing a handful of paracetamol before doing anything else.</p><p>As he swallowed the pills down, he noticed a tightness in his throat.  He knew exactly why it was there...he didn’t want to face what he came to do.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck! </em>
</p><p>When Willie was killed, Jamie had refused to look through the box Inspector Grey gave over to the family full of personal belongings found on the body when they were done gathering evidence for the investigation.  Jenny had taken it home and stashed it away somewhere so Jamie wouldn’t have to see it.  </p><p>He thought of sending her a text to let her know what he was up to, but he hesitated, worried he might set her off at work. A message from beyond their brother’s grave a month after he died was enough to disturb even the likes of Jenny Fraser.  And as she always liked to remind him, she had too many people counting on her at work to be a sobbing mess when she walked into her office.</p><p>Jamie made his way down the hall, figuring he’d start in her home office and then look in her bedroom.  Jenny’s desk was tidy, and all of her cabinets were clean and organized. It only took a few moments to see that what he was looking for wasn’t there.</p><p>Just as he decided to move on, he heard an urgent scream coming from Jenny’s room.  </p><p>He ran for her door, regretting that he didn't have his gun in hand.  Fucking Jenny convinced him not to carry it when he was drunk.  </p><p>He burst through the door ready to defend his sister from an intruder.  Instead, what he found was Jenny naked on her bed, riding a man through a screaming orgasm.</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ!” said Jamie, closing his eyes and spinning around only to find himself crashing into a wall.  </p><p>“What the hell are ye doing here?” said Jenny.  He could hear her scrambling off the bed and putting on clothes behind him.</p><p>“Christ, Jamie.  I’m sorry, mate.  I ken I should’ve said something, but…”</p><p>The sound of the man’s voice took a moment to travel from Jamie’s ears to his brain, and even longer for his brain to recognize who it was.  “Ian?!”</p><p>By the time Jamie turned around, his vision had already gone red.  He narrowed his sights on his best friend who was in the process of finding his pants.  </p><p>Jamie was on him in two strides, pummeling Ian’s face over and over.  Jenny was screaming, pulling his hair and sinking her nails into Jamie’s arm to get him off.  She stopped only to grab a vase and smash it over his head.</p><p>It dazed him enough to afford Jenny the opportunity to slip between him and Ian.</p><p>“...the matter with ye, ye great muckle oaf?!  Ye’ve got some fucking nerve coming in <em> my </em> house and…” He hardly paid attention to her words.  He was too busy dodging her swinging fists to make out what she was saying.</p><p>Bloody-faced and battered, Ian rose to his feet and grabbed Jenny around the middle, pulling her away.  She was still swinging at her brother, letting loose a tirade of vile insults and curses.</p><p>“Calm the fuck down, woman!” demanded Jamie, dabbing at a cut on his temple where blood was dripping down his face and onto his shirt.</p><p>“Me calm down?  Ye’re the one breaking into my house and beating on my boyfriend for no fucking reason, ye horse’s arse!”</p><p>“I thought someone was killing ye by the bloody wailing I heard coming from...Wait...Boyfriend?”  Jamie turned his focus back on Ian.  “How long have ye been swiving my sister, ye fucking coward?”</p><p>“I’m no’ swiving her, Jamie,” said Ian.  “I love her.”</p><p>“That’s worse, ye feckless cunt!”  Jamie tried to lunge for him around Jenny, but she blocked his way.  Still he swung a fist at Ian’s face, far over Jenny’s head.</p><p>“Stay...the hell...away…from my...sister!”  Jamie spoke every word with a swing of his fist.</p><p>“Back...OFF!” said Jenny, this time grabbing a handful of Jamie’s balls and squeezing mercilessly.  </p><p>Jamie couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t speak, save a pained whimper when Jenny forced him back out of her room.</p><p>“We’ll get dressed,” she said, surprisingly calm, “then we can have a civilized conversation about why ye’re breaking in my house and interrupting a damn fine morning!”</p><p>She slammed the door inches from his face, probably wishing it had collided with his nose.  He took several deep breaths and adjusted his aching sack before he stomped off to the kitchen in search of whisky.</p><p>This was the last thing he expected to deal with so close to Willie’s death.  His best friend fucking his sister!</p><p>He found himself a bottle and poured a glass of whisky.  He brought it up to his lips, inhaling the scent of sweet relief. </p><p>He was about to toss it back, but something stayed his hand.</p><p>Willie.  The lass.</p><p>Jamie reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope.  He took out the picture and stared at it curiously.</p><p>Who was she?  His finger traced over the glossy surface of her face and down one of her curvy thighs.  She wasn’t like Willie’s other girls.  This one had life in her eyes.  She had fire.</p><p>She was beautiful.</p><p>“What the hell are ye doing here, brother?” asked Jenny, striding into the kitchen and digging into the refrigerator.  </p><p>“Why are ye fucking Ian?”</p><p>She pulled out eggs, butter, and bacon.  “We’re together...whether you like it or not.”</p><p>“How long has this been going on?”</p><p>“Officially?  Since the funeral.”</p><p>Jamie nearly crumbled up the picture in his hand.  “He fucked ye at Willie’s funeral?”</p><p>“No.  I brought him here and fucked him <em> after </em> the funeral.”</p><p>“<em>Christ</em>.”  Jamie really wanted that damn drink.  “And unofficially?”</p><p>She shrugged.  “A few times here and there.”</p><p>Jamie pushed away from the countertop, wondering if it was one of the ‘here’ or ‘there’ places they’d been.</p><p>“Ye’ll keep yer hands off Ian if ye ken what’s good for ye,” she said, cracking eggs over the frying pan.</p><p>“He should’ve kept his hands off <em>you</em> if he kent what was good for <em> him</em>.”</p><p>“I’m a grown woman, Jamie.”</p><p>“Ye’ve been hurt enough, Jenny.”</p><p>“Aye, and Ian’s been there to pick up the pieces.”</p><p>“Ye dinna need <em> him </em> to help ye do that.  Ye have family.  Ye have me.”</p><p>“I dinna <em> need </em> him, but he was there.  He <em> wanted </em> to be there for me while <em> you </em> were drowning yer sorrows in whisky and pushing the rest of us away.  For a month now, ye’ve been feeling so damn sorry for yerself, ye couldna see the damage ye inflicted on the people who love ye.  Ian was here because he loves <em>me</em>.  I’m keeping him around because <em> I </em> love <em> him. </em>  Ye can get over it, or ye can go dive back in a bottle.”</p><p>“<em>Mmphm</em>,” Jamie grumbled.  “Stubborn wee besom.”</p><p>“Now,” she said, flipping the bacon, “tell me what the hell ye’re doing breaking into my house?”</p><p>“I...I thought ye were working, or I would’ve called.  I was looking for Willie’s box...the one John Grey gave ye.”</p><p>She looked up from the stove, blue eyes wide and glistening.  “What d’ye want wi’ that?”</p><p>“I need his phone.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“For a case I’m working.”</p><p>“Working?”  She looked at the glass of whisky sitting on the counter.  “Since when have ye been working?”</p><p>“Since now.”</p><p>“Why d’ye need Willie’s phone?  He hasna worked wi’ ye in years.”  She started making the toast.</p><p>“He...he sent me a letter.  Willie did, I mean.”</p><p>Jenny narrowed her eyes.  “<em>Jamie</em>...” </p><p>He showed her the envelope.  “He must’ve sent it before…”  He cut himself short; he still couldn’t acknowledge his brother’s death aloud.  Not yet.  “It was in the stack of post on my desk.”</p><p>Jenny went back to cooking, trying to hide the moisture filling her eyes.  “I see.  What was in it?”</p><p>“Pictures...of a woman.”  He held them up for Jenny to see.  “And on the back, it says, ‘Find her’ in Willie’s hand.”</p><p>“Who is it?”</p><p>“I dinna ken.”</p><p>Jenny shrugged and rolled her eyes.  “One of his whores, no doubt.”</p><p>For some reason, the thought irritated him.  “She doesna look like a whore.” </p><p>“Are we talking about the same pictures, laddie?  She’s in her knickers!  Yer brother was a pimp and an addict.  She’s clearly one of his whores.”</p><p>“I dinna ken,” said Ian, surprising Jamie by peering over his shoulder, eye nearly swollen shut.  The sight gave Jamie no little satisfaction.  </p><p>He put the picture back in his pocket, no less angry at Ian than a few minutes ago (just more in control of himself).</p><p>“Willie’s whores were always...different,” Ian went on, cautiously moving around Jamie and going to the freezer to grab a bag of frozen peas for his eye.  “Most of the lasses were living rough.  Some used coke, heroin, pills...like him.  This one looks <em> alive</em>.”  </p><p>Jamie shuddered, knowing exactly what Ian was talking about.  The women Willie brought around—whenever he decided to come around—were usually miserable, tweaking, or completely vacant behind their eyes...just like Willie.</p><p>“Aye,” said Jamie.</p><p>“Well,” Jenny flipped the bacon, “maybe those pictures were when the lass was fresh.”</p><p>“Ye dinna ken a damn thing about her!” A flare of sudden anger burned in Jamie, surprising even himself.  He supposed it must’ve been displaced resentment after finding out about his best friend and his sister.</p><p>“Sorry,” said Jamie.  “It’s been a long day.”</p><p>“It’s nine o’clock in the morning,” said Jenny.</p><p>“Fine.  A long month.”</p><p>“<em>Mmphm</em>,” Ian agreed.</p><p>“Where’s the box, Jen?” Jamie asked again.</p><p>“I’ll get it for ye after breakfast,” she said, raising a brow as though waiting for him to fight her.  “Ye’ll need food in yer stomach if ye’re gonna be driving.”</p><p>Jamie’s eyes flickered over to Ian.  He wasn’t in the mood to break bread with the two of them at the moment.</p><p>“Ye think she’s important?” Ian asked, nodding to Jamie’s pocket where he put the picture.</p><p>The woman’s elegant face appeared fresh in Jamie’s mind, as though he’d pulled out the picture and was staring at it.  He could see her every line, every curve, every detail.</p><p>He covered his pocket protectively with his hand and nodded silently.</p><p>“Alright then,” said Ian, tossing the frozen peas on the counter.  “I’ll grab his phone so it can charge while we eat.  There's a few other things in the box ye might find interesting as well.”</p><p>Jamie was still too pissed off to offer gratitude.  He let Ian walk away without a word.</p><p>Jenny grabbed plates from the cabinet and brought them to Jamie.  “Set the table, ye great muckle fool.  Ye’ll need yer strength if ye’re searching for a lass like that.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Lions and Lambs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What the hell is this?” asked Jamie, staring at a large, yellow gemstone in his hand.</p>
<p>Jenny shrugged.  “It’s fake...obviously.  The police had it checked before they turned it over.  Maybe Willie stole it from somewhere thinking it was worth something.  Or maybe he was trying to sell it to a fool.”</p>
<p>Jamie dug through the small box of Willie’s things.  All it contained was a wallet, crumpled up receipts, and the fake gem.  Jamie didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t a few measly bits of rubbish.</p>
<p>“Here,” said Ian, handing over the phone that had been charging during their meal.  </p>
<p>Jamie turned the phone on and was met with a lockscreen.  “Fuck. Ye know the code?” he asked, looking hopefully at Jenny.</p>
<p>“Aye. 1205.”</p>
<p>Jamie’s eyes snapped up to meet his sister’s.  “Ma’s birthday?”</p>
<p>“It was his password and pin for everything.  The tragic wee sap.”</p>
<p>He keyed in the passcode and scrolled through the pictures.  There weren't many on the camera roll.  Maybe he rarely took pictures.  Maybe he deleted incriminating ones.  Most of the pictures were of strangers, though Willie was in a few. </p>
<p>Jamie was surprised how big of a gut check it was to see his brother’s face on the screen.  He was thin, sallow, and pale.  </p>
<p>When they were young, people would confuse them for each other all the time.  He was called <em> Willie </em> every other day by a teacher or friend.</p>
<p>The image in his hand looked like a stranger.</p>
<p>He shook his head and cleared his throat, pressing on.  </p>
<p>The woman was easy to find.  There were a handful of similar pictures taken of her like the ones printed on the sheet in his pocket, but Willie had clearly chosen the most alluring of the bunch.   </p>
<p>Jamie checked the date on the pictures and found that they were taken a week or two before Willie’s death.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, all the texts, emails, and call logs were deleted from the phone.  Willie had gotten into the habit of doing so since he first got a cell phone.  He always said there was no sense in leaving a trail when you didn’t want something found...as though Inspector Grey didn’t get all that information from the phone company the moment he started the investigation. </p>
<p>Well, Willie was dead, so it hardly mattered anymore.</p>
<p>Jamie tossed the phone back in the box and bent to give his sister a kiss on the cheek.  He wouldn’t say it, but he was grateful for the breakfast that helped sober him up; he would’ve been ashamed of himself if he showed up drunk off his arse before noon at his next stop.</p>
<p>“I’ll let ye know what I find,” he said.  Then he picked up the box, and without a look at Ian, turned and headed for the door.  </p>
<p>“Be careful, brother!” called Jenny.  “I dinna care to bury <em> another </em> brother over some cheap whore!”</p>
<p>He made sure to slam the door on the way out.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve got a department meeting in two minutes,” said John Grey, sitting on the edge of his desk.  “What could possibly be so important that this couldn’t wait?” </p>
<p>Jamie plopped down on the chair in front of his old friend and ran a tense hand through his hair. “I need to see what ye have on Willie and someone he was associated with.”</p>
<p>“Jamie…” John shook his head.</p>
<p>“We both know ye’re gonna help me, John.  Ye may well do so quickly so ye’re not late to yer meeting.”</p>
<p>“Why do you even want to see it, Jamie?  You know I’m giving this case my full attention.  No stone is being left unturned.”</p>
<p>“He’s my brother.  What other reason do I need?”</p>
<p>“You know I can’t give family members sensitive information about an ongoing investigation.” </p>
<p>“I’m not asking as family.  I’m working a case.”</p>
<p>“Willie’s murder is an ongoing criminal investigation.  I can’t…”</p>
<p>“The case I’m working has nothing to do wi’ his murder.  He…” Jamie combed his hand through his hair, frustrated that his friend wouldn’t just give him what he wanted.  “Willie sent me a letter before he died.  He wanted me to look into something for him.  I suppose I ought to fulfill his dying wish.”</p>
<p>John’s face softened.  He could rarely deny Jamie anything, and that was something Jamie took regular and excessive advantage of as a private investigator. </p>
<p>“He wanted me to find a woman for him.  It sounded important.”</p>
<p>Jamie pulled out the sheet of pictures and handed it over to John.  John’s eyes grew wide, and Jamie was certain he detected recognition.</p>
<p>“Ye know who she is?”</p>
<p>John nodded.  “I do.  As you probably already know, we found these very pictures on his phone and a small stack of printed ones like this in his apartment—if you can call the dive he was living in such a thing.  Her name is Beauchamp.  Claire Beauchamp.  We looked into her, given the proximity of the time these photographs were taken to his death; however, we couldn’t come up with a link.”</p>
<p>“Her name is Beauchamp?”</p>
<p>John smiled. “Another sassenach, yes.  A few of us do end up braving the Highlands for one reason or another.”</p>
<p>“What’s her story?”</p>
<p>“Exactly what you’d expect from one of Willie’s associates.  He was her pimp.  She’s a high dollar escort.”</p>
<p>“She doesna look like Willie’s usual type.”</p>
<p>“No, she doesn’t.  She said she had a bunch of debt piled up and nursing wasn’t paying the bills, so she supplements with…extra activities.”</p>
<p>Jamie gave a nod of understanding.  </p>
<p>John went on, “Willie took the pictures of her, and for a fee, hooked her up with some johns with deep pockets.  She’s still in the business from what I gather.”</p>
<p>“Willie didn’t know anyone with deep pockets.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know that.  Rich people don’t care if they’re buying sex or dope from unsavory characters, so long as they get a decent price.”</p>
<p><em> Unsavory characters. </em>  That was certainly an apt description of Willie.</p>
<p>“D’ye have any idea why Willie would want me to find her?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not.  Maybe she owed him money?”</p>
<p>Jamie shook his head.  “Nah.  He wouldn’t ask me to be part of that.  He knew better.”</p>
<p>John checked his watch and tapped his foot impatiently.  Jamie knew how much he hated to be late.  </p>
<p>“If ye willna give me what ye have on Willie, could ye send me what ye have on the lass?”</p>
<p>John bit his lip in final consideration.  “I don’t see the harm.  She’s not currently a person of interest.  But damn it, Jamie, no one better find out I leaked this to you.”</p>
<p>“Have I ever let you down before?”</p>
<p>“No,” John grumbled, “you haven’t.  In fact you’ve saved my life...more than once.  It’s the only reason I’m agreeing to do this.”</p>
<p>Jamie knew that wasn’t true.  John had a soft heart for his friend...too soft for his own good.</p>
<p>John went around his desk and logged into his computer.  “I’ll email this to your work account.  It’s just a report from my interview with Beauchamp and her uncle.”</p>
<p>“Uncle?”</p>
<p>John laughed.  “It wasn’t a very productive interview.  He’s old and has dementia, but I was able to use him to get in touch with his niece.”</p>
<p>“Alright then.  I’ll start there.”  </p>
<p>Jamie stood up and turned to the door.  Just as he was reaching out a hand to open it, John said, “Do me a favor, will you?”</p>
<p>“What’s that?”  </p>
<p>“Share everything you find with the department, and…”</p>
<p>“<em>Mmphm</em>?”</p>
<p>“Take a fucking shower, man.  You stink.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, </em> Jamie read, scrolling on his phone through the email John sent him.  He looked up at the address on the building in front of him and verified it matched the one in John’s file.  </p>
<p>Jamie had tried to call Claire Beauchamp, but her phone never rang, and he was sent straight to voicemail.  He wasn’t in the mood to wait around for a call back, so he’d driven all the way across town to talk to her uncle.  He walked up to the front door and rang the bell.</p>
<p>A friendly young man in scrubs answered the door with a smile on his face.  “Hello.  How can I help you?”</p>
<p>“My name is James Fraser.  I’m here to see Claire Beauchamp.”</p>
<p>The smile dropped immediately from the man’s face.  “I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Beauchamp doesna live here anymore.  She hasna resided here for some time.”</p>
<p>“Is her uncle at home?  May I speak wi’ him?”</p>
<p>The man leaned back and looked over into the other room.  “I’m none so sure that’s a good idea.  He’s having a good day, and I wouldna like him disrupted.”  The man started closing the door, but Jamie put out a foot to stop it.</p>
<p>“Dementia, is it?”</p>
<p>“Aye.  May I ask what it is ye want wi’ the Beauchamps?”</p>
<p>“I’m a private investigator, and I only have a couple questions for Ms. Beauchamp about a man she once knew.”</p>
<p>Movement from inside caught Jamie’s eye.  An elderly man was shuffling toward the stairs.</p>
<p>“As I said, she’s no’ here, and ye willna get much from Lamb.  He…”</p>
<p>Jamie could see the old man bypassing the lift chair on the wall and going up the first few steps.</p>
<p>“<em>Mmphm</em>,” Jamie interrupted.  “Should he be climbing those stairs on his own?”</p>
<p>The caregiver whipped his head around and saw the old man sneaking upstairs.  “Lamb!” </p>
<p>Startled, the old man missed a step, and in seemingly slow motion, began to fall down.  Jamie pushed inside and caught him just before he hit the ground.  </p>
<p>“Ye alright, man?” Jamie asked, staring at the startled Lamb in his arms.</p>
<p>“Oh...oh, I’m marvelous, dear boy.  Just marvelous.”</p>
<p>“Marvelous, is it?” Jamie chuckled, lifting Quentin Lambert Beauchamp to his feet.  “What were ye doing trying to get up there on yer own?”</p>
<p>“I was looking for a box of old treasures.  This twit,” he nodded at the caregiver, “won’t let me move around my own house without following me like a shadow.”</p>
<p>“Because you’ll fall down the stairs and break your neck, Lamb,” said the young man.</p>
<p>Lamb scoffed as though Jamie didn’t just save him from that exact fate only moments before.  </p>
<p>“Why don’t I take ye up there?” said Jamie.  "And ye can find what ye’re looking for.”</p>
<p>“Splendid,” said Lamb.  “A fine young man you are, Willie, my boy.”</p>
<p>“Willie?” Jamie’s knees went weak.</p>
<p>“I dinna think ye should be here,” said the caregiver.  “Ms. Beauchamp said no unapproved visitors.”</p>
<p>Lamb moved toward the stairs as Jamie stood frozen, still reeling. </p>
<p>“Willie?  Aren’t you going to help me?”</p>
<p>“Aye,” said Jamie, forcing himself forward.  “Of course.”</p>
<p>“Ms. Beauchamp wouldna like this,” the caregiver said as Jamie held Lamb tightly around the waist and guided him upstairs.  The caregiver followed right behind, not allowing Jamie out of his sight.  </p>
<p>Belatedly, Jamie began noticing what a state of disarray the house was in.  Boxes were everywhere, piles of crap lined the walls, and broken picture frames were resting on the floors.</p>
<p>“What happened here?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Oh,” said Lamb.  “The miscreants were after my treasure.  They didn’t find it though.  It’s too well hidden.”</p>
<p>“Treasure?”</p>
<p>“Lamb!” scolded the caregiver before addressing Jamie.  “He doesna have treasure.  His brain isn’t thinking right.  Lamb, if you tell strangers you have treasure, they might believe you and come looking for it...again.”</p>
<p>“Willie’s no stranger.”</p>
<p>“This isna Willie.  His name is Fraser.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” said Lamb.  He chuckled and patted Jamie’s hand that kept a steadying grip on his arm.  </p>
<p>Lamb led them into what appeared to be his bedroom.  There was a bed with rails on the sides like one might find in the hospital.  There were only a couple pieces of other furniture, and the rest of the room was filled with more boxes and junk.</p>
<p>“Lamb’s a bit of a hoarder,” said the caregiver.  “It’s all sentimental crap with no value.  Most of it is broken since we had the break-in last month.  It’s been taking Ms. Beauchamp ages to get it cleaned up.”</p>
<p>“A break-in?” asked Jamie.</p>
<p>“Someone looking for a treasure that doesna exist.  Lamb was an archeologist once.  People like to think of him as Indiana Jones, but he’s a bit more like Mr. Magoo.”</p>
<p>“Oh, hogwash,” said Lamb, leaving Jamie’s side to go rifle through a pile of rubbish.</p>
<p>“Ye said Ms. Beauchamp comes by to clean up?  D’ye ken the next time she'll stop by?”</p>
<p>“No.  She’s a busy woman.  She comes as often as she can, which sometimes is more frequently than others.”</p>
<p>“Here’s my pipe!” Lamb called out with glee.  “Willie, come look!  This was given to me by a snake-charmer in Spain about fifty years ago.”</p>
<p>“A snake-charmer?  Are there many snake-charmers in Spain?”</p>
<p>Lamb elbowed Jamie familiarly.  “Not that kind of <em> snake </em> man.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Jamie laughed.  “Ye were the one being charmed then, aye?”</p>
<p>Lamb grinned wickedly.  “It’s not often you leave an establishment like <em>that</em> bearing gifts from the gentlemen who work there.  I'd say he was the one left charmed.”</p>
<p>“Christ, Lamb,” said the caregiver.</p>
<p>Jamie laughed with the old man and snooped through the box, curious if there really was some ancient treasure hiding in the mess.  His eyes landed on a picture with a broken frame.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>“Who’s this?” asked Jamie, looking down at two young, smiling women.  The one on the right was most certainly the woman in the pictures in his pocket.  <em> Claire. </em></p>
<p>“Don’t be daft, Willie.  That’s Louise and Claire, as you very well know.”</p>
<p>“Oh, aye.  Lamb...ye dinna remember how it was we met, do ye?”</p>
<p>“Hmmm.  Was it the birthday party in Paris?  Or was that Charles?  Blubbering idiot.  Perhaps it was Paul?  I don’t recall, you know how <em>she</em> can be," he said, pointing to the picture.</p>
<p>“She?”</p>
<p>“Louise.”</p>
<p>“Is Louise related to you?”</p>
<p>Lamb turned and narrowed his eyes at Jamie.  “Don’t be acting like Claire now, Willie.  She’s always asking if I know what day it is and what city I’m in.  Don’t you go asking questions to see if I’m in my right mind.”</p>
<p>“I’m not worried about you being in your right mind, Lamb,” Jamie laughed.  “It’s me I’m concerned about.”  He stuck out his thumb and pinky finger, shaking them back and forth near his mouth to inform Lamb he’d been drinking.</p>
<p>Lamb laughed heartily, clapping Jamie on the back.  “If only the drink could erase Louise from your mind.”  His laugh died down quite suddenly, and a sadness permeated his tone.  “Life would be much simpler if we could truly forget some things.”  </p>
<p>He moved on to look in another box.</p>
<p>“Mr. Fraser,” said the caregiver, “I think it’s time you go.  If you’d like to leave your number, I’ll be sure Ms. Beauchamp gets it the next time she’s here.”</p>
<p>“Aye...I suppose ye’re right.”  He went to Lamb and patted him gently on the back.  “I’ll be off now, man.  Shall I bring ye downstairs?”</p>
<p>Lamb waved him off, intent on exploring the latest box of rubbish.  Jamie quietly pulled the picture out of the frame and shoved it in his pocket.  He set the empty frame back in a box.</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of him,” said the caregiver.  “Let me see you out.”</p>
<p>Jamie could see the tension in the caregiver’s shoulders at having a stranger in the house.  It was no wonder, considering the recent break-in.</p>
<p>He allowed the young man to walk him to the front door.  Jamie left a business card for Ms. Beauchamp, though he didn’t have much confidence that she’d actually use it.</p>
<p>The bolt on the door behind him clicked loudly as Jamie walked back to his car.  Before getting in, he surveyed the street.</p>
<p>There were townhouses lined up side by side all the way down the block.  Across the street, there was a small, rundown hotel and a corner shop to his right and more townhouses to his left. </p>
<p>He didn’t know when the woman would show up to see her uncle.  It could be hours or days or weeks.  He could just try to wait for her call, but it didn’t sound like she was the kind of person interested in talking to strangers.</p>
<p>He’d have to camp out and wait for her to arrive.  </p>
<p>He looked across the street at the hotel.  The sign said there were vacancies.  </p>
<p>Perhaps it was an occasion for a bit of a stake-out.</p>
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